His Failing Heart
by chinchin unicorn
Summary: The perfect wife. A leading doctor. She has the weight of her marriage on her shoulders. He has the weight of their hearts in his hands. Entry for the TwiFic Doctorward Contest. Awards mentioned inside.
1. Contest Entry

**This was my entry for the TwiFic Doctorward Contest. It won 3rd Place Judges' Vote and a Judge's Favorite Award by **Lynzylee. Thank you to the host, **Anhanninen, all the judges, and all of the graphic makers! Congratulations to the winners and all of the authors!******

******Thank you to my PTB Betas: wandofhawthorn and shouvley. And mucho squishes to the awesomest pre-reader ever: Ali OMalley Cat.******

* * *

I hear you before I see you. The way your heels click against the linoleum floor. Tap…tap…tap. I try not to look, not wanting to be reminded of those long legs and how they tense so beautifully when you come.

"Dr. Cullen." It has to be a dream. You haven't spoken to me since you ran from my car that night, your hair trailing after you as you scurried through your front door, your scent still on my fingers. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

I shake my head, continuing down the hall. Almost like I'm running away. It's for the better. You were right. I'm married to my job. You're married to him. There's no future for us. It doesn't matter that I ache for you every second of the day or that I dream about your sweet lips at night or that I find any excuse to go to your floor. Even just a small glimpse of your darkness lifts my spirits.

Remember when I lost that patient? When I let him die beneath my scalpel? You'd said it was Fate. That she works in mysterious ways. That everything happens for a reason. With you holding my hand beneath the glittering stars, I'd cried my sorrows into your shoulder, and for one brief moment, as you wiped the tears from my cheeks, searching my eyes with your own, I thought you were going to kiss me.

Tap…tap. Tap. "Wait! Please!"

Of course you didn't. Not that time at least. You were the good wife. The perfect wife. Dark hair and dark eyes with the pinkest of lips. Dressed in brands. Flawless everything. Spending your nights in the bedside chair but waking the next morning without even a wrinkle.

But I knew you felt it. This connection between us. The fire every time our eyes met. The spark every time we accidentally touched. You would lick your lips, watching as I worked, your eyes so heated that I just knew your thoughts were anything but innocent.

Tap. Tap. Tap. "I need to speak with you!"

We tried to fight, didn't we? Tried to be good people. We only slipped up once. That night in the car. When your exhaustion and tears drove you into my arms until my lips were against yours, my fingers against your desire, my will to fight crushed with you so close.

You'd clutched at me so desperately, whispering over and over, "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I'm not supposed to be with him." Until you weren't whispering anymore. Until you were moaning, screaming, yelling my name into the night.

"Dr. Cullen!"

It's almost surprising when your fingers grab my coat and then my arm, spinning me around to face your angry dark eyes. I try to remain calm, but your chest heaving with exertion turns me on like nothing else.

"Mrs. Whitlock, how can I help you?" My voice betrays my heated insides. Can you feel how I grow hotter and hotter with each passing glance you give me?

"Please," you beg so desperately that I'm not even sure if you realize how you lean in closer, your fingers tangling with the buttons on my coat. "Tell me what Dr. Newton said isn't true."

"Mrs. Whitlock…" It hurts to call you by his name. Why won't you give in to me like I want to give in to you? "You should really discuss this with Dr. Newton."

"Please…" You pause, and it's like the entire ward's heartbeat is between us. "Edward...I want to hear it from you."

How sweet my name sounds on your lips. It crushes my resolve. "Bella…"

"Please, Edward. Tell me my husband is going to live."

I look behind you. The hallway is deserted at this time of night, and yet I can still feel the eyes of the snooping nurses. I take your hand gently into mine, pulling you toward the nearest door. Darkness engulfs us as we step into the supply closet, your eyes almost lost amongst all the black.

You wait, shuffling on your feet as your hands grab at the hem of your shirt, your fingers so nervous with the way they twist and turn. "Bella, your husband's condition took a turn for the worse last night. He needs a new heart now."

"Then get him one. If anyone can, it's you, Edward! You're the best."

I move to erase the sorrow from your eyes, but you step away from my touch. My hands fall to the side in defeat. How you break my heart with each brush off. "You know that's not how it works. I just put the heart in. I can't get a new one."

There's a moment everyone must experience, when reality crashes down into the fantasy we've created. You didn't let yourself believe your husband would die. Not a man like him. Wealthy, successful, well-liked and respected by everyone. Anyone would be lucky to be married to him. I thought he was lucky to be married to you. But even with all the support, with all the love, with all the money in the world at his beck and call, nothing can save him from death. Nothing but a new heart.

You break down. Your shoulders hunch, your back curving in, as if you hold the weight of your marriage's responsibility. It's not until the tears fall, when the sob escapes from your lips, when your body begins to tremble with your emotions, that I bring you into my embrace.

You don't fight. You can't. Not when you're about to fall. Not when I'm the only one holding you up.

"I don't know what to do," you sob into my shoulder.

"Hope for the best." I do. Every day. Every hour. Every minute I dream about the day I can hold you in my arms forever and call you mine.

You must feel it—the way I'm so desperate for you—because you tilt your head until your gaze meets mine, and even now with the worry lining your face, the misery twisting through your eyes, your lips chapped and abused from neglect, you're still beautiful.

I thumb the wet trails down your cheeks, holding my breath as you look deeper, harder, as if you're searching for some sort of answer, some sort of sign. When the silence becomes too much, I say, "What are you thinking, Bella? Tell me."

"I can't," you whisper, your lips barely moving as you shake your head, stepping just that much more away from me.

I beg you with my eyes. "Please, Bella."

"You and me? We're the bad guys. Nothing good can come out of this."

"No." I shake my head. I can't agree. "We're not bad, and there's so much good to be had."

"It's wrong." You look down at your shuffling feet before taking another step back. "It's always been wrong."

"What? What's wrong?" I know what you're going to say, and it hurts, but it's like some part of me needs you to break me that much more, to end me, to end this.

"You and me, but…" This time when you look up, when you continue your search, you have that same glitter in your eyes as the night we spent under the stars. Kind of like you want to kiss me.

"But?"

Your whisper is so quiet, I can't be sure if I actually heard you correctly. "Why does it feel so right?"

It's the tiny perk of your lips, the small rise at the corners of your mouth, that tell me you've found whatever you're looking for. I don't dare move as you act on your decision, as you take back those two steps, rising onto your tiptoes, your hands clutching my shoulders tight.

The breath trapped in my lungs releases when your lips touch my own. I breathe into your mouth, sharing your air as we wait and ponder. I've no idea what swirls through your mind, what you're thinking, what you want, but I know this must be what heaven feels like, to be so close to kissing you again.

It's slow but it happens. Your eyes slide shut. Your arms wrap themselves around my neck. Your lips move sensuously across mine. And when you moan, the tiniest of breathiest sounds, I fall right into your waiting embrace.

"Bella…please. Tell me what you want."

"Kiss me, Edward."

I can't resist you. Not when you beckon me with your eyes, your fingers tugging on my white coat. I sink into you as you sigh your happiness through parted lips. It's too much, feeling you like this, having your flesh against my wandering hands.

The fight in me dies. The good man follows soon after. My desperation for you bubbles over, scalding hot in the way I clench you so tight, kiss you so deep, push you so hard until you're left breathless when your back hits the concrete wall.

I can't control my harsh breaths painting your cheek. "Tell me to stop, Bella."

"I don't want you to." Your whisper calms my rapidly beating heart.

"I don't want to either." It's like we've both signed away our innocence. Like we've stepped into a world of sin. Like we can't take back what has been done and what has been said. We're in this too deep.

You hitch your skirt up, lifting your leg, clutching at the back of my thigh, pulling my aching need against your lush heat. I can't stay away from you like this. Not with your breasts moving so fast underneath your cotton shirt. Not with your hands fumbling with my belt and pants. And most definitely not with your desire growing so wet against my fingers.

"Please. God, please. I need you," you say.

My belt clanks loudly against the linoleum floor, but I can't find it in me to care as I grasp your backside, lifting your body against the concrete until your legs are wrapped around my waist.

"Make me feel better. Take all this pain away."

I push, but you pull me back. You're too close. Your hands too greedy. When you grab my lust, rubbing my engorged head against your slickness, I want to explode before I've even experienced what it's like to conquer your body with the one part of me that truly wants it.

"Bella…wait!" Your neck is damp against my lips as I try to hold myself together.

You'll have none of it though. "Dr. Cullen. Please. Fuck me."

I sink into you with a groan, shuddering as I hold myself back, raising my face to the black ceiling, opening my mouth in a silent scream, as I pull out and then push back in. My thrusts match the beating of our hearts. Slower. Thrust…thrust…thrust. And then faster. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. You muffle your moans in my shoulder, your fingers pulling my hair, as you fall so sweetly into the abyss. I follow soon after.

I can't help the apprehension that comes. Not after our act of love. Not after we've set our clothes right and I've kissed your lips in thanks. Not after we say goodbye and you disappear into your husband's room.

No, it's later. Much later. When I'm settled at home, washing your scent from my flesh, it hits me. The fear. The panic. Will you reject me when I see you next? Will you push aside our connection in favor of your dying husband? Are you sleeping next to him now? Your hand in his? With my lust still on your body?

I seek you out the next day. Needing to see you but too afraid to approach. You're sleeping on the reclining chair in your husband's room, your hands delicately acting as a pillow for your cheek. Like this, with everything about you relaxed against the cushions, you seem so innocent, without obligations, without responsibility.

I brush my finger across your closed eyes, kissing your forehead so gently I don't know how you would feel it, but you do, because you stir, and then your dark eyes are looking up at me.

"Edward?"

"Good morning…" Bella? Sweetie? Mrs. Whitlock? What do I call you now?

"What time is it?"

"Early. Go back to sleep."

You shake your head and then stretch. With your arms above your head, your shirt lifts so high that I can see the expanse of your stomach, so creamy and white against the black leather.

You giggle, and I know I've been caught. "I don't want to sleep anymore."

You sound so carefree, and I can't help but hope, my smile overtaking my face. "Bella?"

"Hmm?"

I take a chance. "Can I kiss you?"

You search my eyes like you did last night, so hesitant as you answer. "Please do."

I cherish you. Your lips. Your body. Your wetness. Drowning in the depth of this need I have to feel you lush and ready against my fingers, against my tongue. Even though your husband slumbers with all the medication running through his system, when your moans become too loud, you drag me to the adjoining bathroom. I push you against the sink, my desire against your back and then your heat, bending you over until you're clenching around me, screaming into my hand.

"Yes! Edward! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Those moans, the way you yell my name, accompany me throughout my day. I do my job in a flurry of memories so good, so tempting, so distracting, that everyone around me notices.

"Why are you smiling like that, Dr. Cullen?" Her name is Alice. She's so young, just barely a teenager, but she will die. She's been waiting for a heart for months, and with each day that passes, her condition deteriorates more and more.

"I'm just very happy right now."

She smiles like she knows. "You know what my biggest regret is?"

"What?"

"That I won't get to wear a pretty white dress on my wedding day."

"You still could."

"No. I want it to mean something. To fall in love. Not with the dress but with the reason I'm wearing the dress."

I nod my head. In ways, she understands this sorrow more than I.

"Are you in love, Dr. Cullen?"

Am I? Do I love you? I lean against her bed, staring down into her bleak eyes. "Maybe. I don't know."

"You should figure it out. If there's anything I've learned, it's that life is short. You shouldn't spend it wondering. You should spend it living."

I don't have to pretend to think over her words. So close to death, this child knows more about things I'll never truly understand. "Tell me. What's it like? Love?"

She smiles and it's beautiful. "Life. It's like life. It brings you back from the darkness, holds your hand, and lets you live."

When Alice succumbs to death, the official story was from complications with her medication and frail condition, but in a way, I think it's because her sad heart just gave out.

You find me in my office around noon, so I pull you to my desk, setting you on top with your legs spread wide, my mouth feasting where you drip with passion. I show you how much I love you with my tongue and my hardness pressing so deep into you.

We come in a flurry of flying papers, dropping pens, and missed phone calls. Breathing so hard, our hearts beating so rapidly in our chests. I feel yours against my cheek, when I bend over in exhaustion, twitching at the way you still pulse around me.

Your fingers are soft in my hair. "Don't think the worst of me, okay?

I laugh, but you don't find it funny. "I never could."

"Jasper and I were over, but then he got sick. I couldn't just leave him."

"Because you're a good person."

You're silent for just a moment. "I try to be."

"If his heart hadn't given out on him…?"

"We'd be divorced by now."

I shouldn't say it, but I can't help the words that come tumbling out of my mouth, and the guilt I feel has nothing on these unexpected feeling that soar through my body. Why does this make a difference? Knowing you don't love him? "In a way, I'm grateful for all that's happened because if it didn't, I wouldn't have met you."

I don't need to see your smile to know it's there. I hear it in your voice. "I know what you mean."

I leave the comfort of your arms, standing straight, staring down as you stare up. "Stay with me tonight."

You pause. "What?"

"When my shift is done, come with me to my home. Spend the night in my arms."

For a second, I think you'll say no. Your eyes juggle back and forth between the wall and me. Your lips tremble as you twist my white coat between your fingers. Have I gone too far? Have I moved too fast? Are you not ready for what a night together would mean? Because we both know it would mean more.

Your silence lasts forever in my mind when really, I've barely just asked you, but then your eyes are glittering like the stars. "Yes. I'll come with you."

That night, in the blinking lights of the hospital garage, hidden in the shadows, I meet you at my car. "Were you waiting long?"

"No." And I swear I hear you whisper, "I'd wait forever for you." But it is as soft as the wind, and I can't be sure.

I hold your hand while I drive, rubbing my thumb so slowly across your skin as you sigh your happiness. A sort of lazy comfort fills the small space inside the car. It's so different from the last drive we took. When things were so tense. When I wasn't sure what I wanted from you and what you wanted from me. When I gave you pleasure blindly, and you accepted it with remorse.

This time you slide my hand up your thigh, your legs parting rather than closing. Your moans have no boundaries here, and it's so hard holding back as I give in while the outside passes by in a blur. You find your release with your eyes squeezed shut, your head thrown back, your fingers clutching my wrist so painfully that it's good.

It's a rush up to my apartment filled with laughter as you trip over your own feet too many times to count. I catch you, finally just lifting into my arms, carrying you the rest of the way. When your tongue paints pictures across my skin, I find myself sprinting to my door, fumbling with the key, needing you inside, needing inside of you.

I throw your clothes away, scattered around the small space. Your shirt on my living room floor. Your pants in my kitchen. Your bra hanging from the hallway light fixture. Your panties…I don't even know where those are. All that matters is your flesh exposed to me in its entirety for the first time. And I've never seen a more exquisite sight.

You lay on my sheets, the duvet thrown aside, beckoning me with your finger cocked so seductively as you call my name. "Won't you join me, Dr. Cullen?"

I discard the rest of my clothes that you hadn't managed to take off, slowly unbuttoning my pants, letting them fall to the ground, slipping one foot through and then the other. You whine your impatience as I crawl onto the bed, kissing your feet, your legs, your hips, your breasts, all the way up until, finally, your lips.

You kiss me like it's the last time. And who knows? The earth could swallow us tomorrow. The sun could explode. A fire could erupt. Life is short, and it is better spent living than wondering.

So I fall into you, hooking your legs under my arms and then wrapping them around my hips when I can't get close enough. You tighten so deliciously against me, your arms thrown back, clenching onto the bed posts as I thrust into you hard and then harder.

There's a sort of sweetness in the way our skin slaps together, in the way the bed frame thumps against the wall, in the way our moans and groans and sighs of pleasure crescendo. This feels right. You and me. Together in my bed. Against my white sheets. We share a look amongst the rustle, the stars between us, your smile shining as if the same unexpected feelings I felt before are now flying through you. When we fall into bliss, it's stunning.

I hold you tight, breathing so hard, afraid that I'm crushing you beneath me, but when I try to pull away, you grip me harder, not letting me go. "Are you okay?" I ask.

You nod, your cheeks flushed, your eyes happy. "Yes. I'm living, and it feels wonderful."

That right there. That's how I know. Alice's lesson come true. That this desperate need for you goes beyond a physical attraction, beyond lustful desires. From that moment I first saw you, my hands covered in the metaphorical blood of the patient I couldn't save, you smiled at me, so open and warm, that it pulled me from the darkness, saved me from the downward spiral.

"Bella?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

You don't react as I thought you would. Your body doesn't tense. You don't pull away. You cry these big tears sliding down your face, collecting on my pillow. I panic, wanting to ease your pain but not knowing what to do.

But then you're smiling. "Oh, Edward, I love you too."

You sleep in my arms that night, our legs tangle, our hearts beating as one, and I've never been happier.

In the morning, it's hard to let you go, to watch you walk away through the hospital parking garage, farther and farther away from me. You peek over your shoulder just before you get into the elevator, waving a tiny goodbye, blowing a sweet kiss. A few moments later, I follow, skipping into the hospital, high with the memories of our act and declarations of love. I don't think anything can bring me down.

Nurse Webber runs up to me, a smile lighting up her face. "Dr. Cullen! I was just about to page you!"

"What's going on?" I ask. That's when I see everyone is rushing, running, doing something.

"Good news! A heart came in for Mr. Whitlock. We need to prep you for surgery!"

When I meet your dark eyes from across the busy floor ward, everything—the doctors, the nurses, the team prepping your husband—disappears. It's just you and me locked in this gaze as you search my eyes so intently for the answer. Before I can call your name, you're called back into your husband's room.

I do my job. I get ready for surgery. I hear the words of Dr. Newton and Nurse Webber, mentally noting the complications and concerns, listening attentively. But I need you, and that need nags at the back of mind, makes my fingers tremble, so much so that Nurse Webber sees.

"Take a few minutes to calm yourself, Dr. Cullen."

I look for you. They've already wheeled your husband away, so you're alone in his room, your hands nervously tidying up. "Bella?"

My heart freezes right along with you. I try again. "Bella, please."

"I'm sorry, Edward."

I don't want to ask, but I do. "For what? Tell me."

Your whisper is barely loud enough to hear. "He'll need me. When this is all over, he'll need my help."

I know what you're saying, but I can't accept it. My heart can't take it. I rush forward, pulling you into my arms, and for a moment, you sink into me. "I love you, Bella. So much. I love you."

"I love you too…"

"Then please tell me we're not over."

"Jasper's going to live."

"Please tell me this changes nothing."

"I can't leave him now. Not when he needs me the most."

When you step away from my arms, you leave behind a dagger in my heart. "Bella…"

"You and me? We're the bad guys."

"No we're not," I say it even though I know there's no changing your mind this time.

"What we did was wrong. So horribly wrong. It was never right."

"I love you." My whisper feels almost like a goodbye. It is a goodbye.

"I'm sorry, Edward." You walk away as the good wife, the perfect wife, once again.

I'm not scared. I'm not happy. I'm not sad. I'm numb. You've thrown me back into the darkness from which you'd pulled me out of. Crushed my heart. Left me to die in my pain. Alone.

When Nurse Webber hands me my scalpel, I'm not trembling anymore. Underneath the harsh light, she says, "Good luck, Dr. Cullen. This is his only chance."

My reality has crashed, destroying the fantasy of you and I. This man, whose life I hold in my hands, who did nothing but act as your husband and call you to his side when he needed your love and care so desperate—it's all his fault. Why did Fate bring us together and then separate us after too short of a time? Why did she save him? Why couldn't she let him die?

With the blade against his skin, the blood seeping from the incision I've made over his failing heart, the one that holds my love, the one that takes it away, I think, "This is my only chance, too."


	2. Outtake Part 1

**Originally, the story was going to start when Bella and Edward first met, but then I decided last minute to fast-forward it to the closet scene, so now I have almost 4000 words to share with all of you. I've separated it into three different outtakes. **

**This is for lynzylee. **

**Unbeta'd: Sorry for my mess. Also, this was written before the final version, so some events may not match up, but it shouldn't cause any problems.**

* * *

Outtake Part 1

The weak yellow lighting does nothing to settle my nerves, the shaking in my hands, the way my knees tremble with every step. My heart beats with the loss, of the blood still dripping from my fingers, of the knife used to end his life. So meticulous. So careless.

"Dr. Cullen?" Her voice reverberates in my mind in the same way it would a deep cavern, lost amongst all the rock and darkness, echoing from one side to the next, searching for the light.

I balance myself against the wall, feeling the cold, hardness against my back where it bleeds in through the layers of cotton. There's metaphorical smeared red across my forehead as I grab my aching skull with tired fingers. How did one escape from this feeling of failure? From this expectation to do great?

"Edward, are you all right?" She's too close, her scent, warmth, the feeling of her palm so hot against my shoulder, invades my senses, cuts me off from the real world…or at least more than I already am.

I push her away, spreading my dirty to her pristine, perhaps harder than I meant to. She stumbles on her tiptoes, catching her balance with nimble feet, holding in the gasp I just know is aching to be released. Her worried eyes yearn to hold me as her hands twitch at her sides, grabbing at the color hiding the flesh I'm so familiar with.

"I'm sorry, Angie," I whisper, hoping to alleviate any hurt that I've caused. "It's been a hard day."

She shuffles closer, tiny movements of her white shoes skating across the tile. "I heard about what happened."

She doesn't understand. Not her with her pure soul as she tries to love me. Not the technicians with sympathetic eyes as they lend me their comfort through weak touches. Not my colleagues with their whispers of empathy and promises of next time being better.

"You're one of the best. Everyone knows you did what you could. Don't put yourself down for this."

How could I not? His life was in my hands. His heart beat against my fingers, my knife. His wife—with her tear-filled eyes, begging me to bring him back safely to her—counted on me to ensure a safe, swift delivery. Every decision I made in that room lent itself to his eyes never opening again, to his absence from all future holidays with his family, to his destruction.

I killed him.

And not even her arms around my neck, my waist, her kisses against my cheeks, her tears on my flesh, her words of "we'll get through this together" can erase that.

"Dr. Cullen!" I shake my head, unwilling to accept his presence. Can't he see I'm hurting? Can't he see I'm unable to handle much more? "I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Cullen, but we need you immediately."

Her voice saves me. "Can this wait for another time?"

"I'm sorry Nurse Webber, but he's needed right away."

There is no mercy. No salvation from my deeds. No time to heal as her hands help me stand, balance, smooth my coat, the wrinkles from my face. She reminds me to smile, to pretend I'm the best, to lie that I'm a miracle-worker when I'm far from that.

It's hard at first, putting one foot in front of the other, but it gets easier the more I walk, the farther I go. It's disgusting in how natural it is in hiding the evil, the darkness, the thoughts better left ignored.

"I'm sorry about this, Dr. Cullen," he says, looking over his shoulder, his pace slightly quickening. "It is one of _those_ patients."

High priority. Important. Lots of money. That's what he means.

"Mr. Whitlock! I'm sorry for the wait."

Slicked back blond curls hardly moves as he laughs, pulling his suit jack in tighter around a body that used to be more well built. "That's all right, Dr. Newton. I'm willing to wait a bit for the best."

Newton chuckles, grabbing onto my shoulder, his fingers like a web of deceit pulling me in. "And the best is what I have for you. I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Edward Cullen."

His hand is weak in my grasp, his fingers barely calling up enough energy to hold on. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Cullen. I'm Jasper Whitlock."

"Mr. Whitlock is the…"

I couldn't care less of who this man is or why he is so important or that any amount of money means nothing to him when it concerns his life because there you are. Shuffling in your heels. Twisting nervous fingers. Grabbing onto sleek silk and pushing back flyaway hair. The yellow in this place does nothing to dim the beauty you shine. You illuminate the rooms, the halls…me.

"Dr. Cullen?" I know I've missed a question, something I should answer. Even Angie shifts uncomfortably next to me.

Whitlock follows my gaze, that silver lining between me and you, smiling as he pulls you in with an arm around your waist. "This is my wife, Isabella. She's been my angel through all of this."

And an angel you are. With the way your delicate lips move. Your sweet little voice singing, filling my ears, my rapidly beating heart. "It's nice to meet all of you."

I grab onto your outstretched hand almost desperately, seeking any touch you have to offer, aching to feel your flesh against my own. "The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Whitlock."

My heart beats just for you. Each thump, thump saying one word out of three. You're the light in my darkness. My savoir in a world of death. The one who will call my name and bring me back when the deep pulls me in too far. I smile. I can't help it knowing you're so close.

You smile back, and my world is complete. You must feel it. This connection. The way you've saved me. "There are no words I can express for my undying gratitude for what you'll do for my husband."

Whitlock leans in, planting his frail lips on your upturned cheek. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

You. Me. We aren't the only ones who see how we've intertwined in these few first seconds. Angie trails her hand down my back, pulling at my white coat when you turn away, following Newton down the hall. Whitlock's fingers call up imaginary strength to grip your flesh harder, pulling you in closer as if afraid he'll lose you.

And he will. No question about that.

"Edward?" she says, stepping in close, her breath warm on my neck. "Let's go to your office."

I hate the way she swoons when I pull her close. How she murmurs soft words of love against my cheek when I lift her onto my desk, pushing colorful cotton out of the way. How she moans, tilting her head back, when I enter her in one swift thrust.

"Edward, please."

Everything rattles. Papers fly. Pens fall. Glass breaks. Littering my floor with chaos as I jerk into her too harsh, too hard. Releasing the pressure that has built from the moment his life was lost to the moment you walked into mine. She finds her ending just before I do, holding me close as I pound my way to the finish line.

When it's all over, when we wrestle to find the breath we've lost, when we're clutching so closely to sweaty bodies, feeling our hearts beat rapidly with exertion, with too much emotion, she cries. These soft little tears on my neck. She must know that this is goodbye…or perhaps it was the way your name fell so sweetly from my lips.


	3. Outtake Part 2

**Unbeta'd: Sorry for the mess. Also, this was written before the final version, so some events may not match up, but it shouldn't cause any problems. **

* * *

Outtake Part 2

I don't see you for days, for weeks. Not until your husband's body has disintegrated, his legs unable to hold himself up, his arms left with no energy to hold you. They wheel him into one of the private suites, his eyes hardly open, his mind barely able to register you trailing after him with tears in your eyes.

"Mrs. Whitlock?" I say, knocking before stepping into the room. Your head lifts from where you've pressed it to the bed, wiping your tears with quick fingers.

"Dr. Cullen!" You stand, crossing the room, grabbing onto my eager hands, pulling me so close that I can't stop the door from closing, from locking out the world. "Please, tell me good news."

"Your husband's condition has worsened faster than what we predicted. He needs a new heart as soon as possible."

You fall forward, right into my arms, where I catch you with ease, brushing your tears from your cheeks, holding you close. "Tell me there's hope."

"There always is. Don't give up. Not until his current heart does."

I've lost no one since you've entered my life. I've only saved, and I know it's because of you. This light you come with, this feeling of peace you bring, it follows me even after you've gone. You're always there.

Though I've underestimated how hard it would be to have you so close to me all day. I can't concentrate. I can't focus. I forget my patient's name. Their conditions. Nothing matters as much to me as you just down the hall, nursing your sick husband, sitting at his bedside.

You stand when I enter the room after a brief knock. You no longer seemed surprised at my random visits. Instead, your face lights up with a smile.

"Dr. Cullen, I'm so glad you're here."

I take your outstretched hand into mine, pulling you close, wishing I could kiss you. "Just checking up on my favorite patient. How are you feeling today, Mr. Whitlock?"

He shakes his head. "Just fine, but Isabella can't seem to stop fretting over me."

She groans, her face pinching into hurt. "I'm just worried about you."

"There's nothing you can do right now." Whitlock's tired blue eyes swing in my direction, and I can practically feel their desperation across the few feet that separates us. "Will you please take her to eat something, Dr. Cullen? She hasn't eaten anything all day."

"Jasper! I'm not a child."

I click my tongue, drawing your attention. The blush that sweeps across your cheeks is magnificent. "You should really take better care of yourself, Mrs. Whitlock. When the time comes, you're husband will need you."

I see when my words pull you in, and it doesn't take much convincing for you to follow me out into the hall and down to the cafeteria. You eat like a starved woman, but your hands show the tremble of your fatigue.

I shake my head. "You're just as important."

You swallow. "What?"

"Your husband may be the sick one, but your health is just as important."

"I just get so worried sometimes." Your voice is soft as you avoid my eyes.

I wait, and when I can't wait anymore, so I say, "Mrs. Whitlock?"

"Bella. Call me Bella."

I smile. "Then please call me Edward."

You're staring out the window, your sandwich half-eaten and forgotten as you play with the crumbling bread. The silence is tense, and then, "Things weren't good before this. Before all the hospitals and doctors."

You quickly glance my way before watching cars speed below us. "We were separated. Probably going to divorce, but then he got sick, and I felt bad. Sometimes the guilt is too much to handle."

I grab your hand, squeezing your fingers between mine. "You shouldn't feel guilty."

This time it's your turn to shake your head. "You don't understand. Sometimes I feel like I don't want to be here. That I don't want the pressure of being his wife. That I wished that I'd left sooner so I didn't have this responsibility."

You bury your head in your hands, your tears leaking through your fingers, dripping down and falling onto the table, the sorrow pooling alongside your trembling body. "I'm a terrible person!"

It takes me only second to round the table, to pull you into my arms, to cradle you so close. "You're not."

You try to push me away, but I'm strong, and your arms shake with not wanting to. "I shouldn't have told you this. I should've just kept it all inside of me. You probably think so less of me now."

"Stop. I don't think any different of you. You're beautiful, strong, and courageous. Perfect."

I kiss your head, where your hair meets your skin, damp with sweat as you hush your breathing and calm your heart. You tense, your fingers gripping me so tight as if afraid I'll move, that I'll pull back…away from you.

But I don't. It' you that does, saying, "I should go."

I watch you walk away, wishing for the day I never have to witness this again.


	4. Outtake Part 3

**This is the last out of the outtakes. Sorry it took so long to post...I forgot about it . lol. Have a single shot futuretake in mind, but it won't be up for quite some time. Have Our House and Blister in the Sun to finish, Rusted to start, and a futuretake for Hush Little Baby to get up. Sigh.**

**Unbeta'd: Sorry for the mess. This was written before the final version so some events may not match up, but it shouldn't cause any problems.**

* * *

Outtake Part 3

You're so quiet these days, and the light within you dims as your weight diminishes, the circles beneath your eyes grow, the tremble in your hands become even stronger. He's killing you, and I wish I could save you like I work endlessly to save him.

Whitlock swings his eyes from you to me and then back to you, his mind churning behind those dim blues. "I'm fine, Dr. Cullen. Just so tired. I feel so tired all the time."

I nod my head, tucking my hands into my coat's pockets. "Any day now, Mr. Whitlock, we expect good news."

He closes his eyes, his smile wistful. "Do me a favor, Dr. Cullen?"

I hesitate. "Sure."

"Will you take Isabella home? She hasn't had a good night's rest in forever."

You startle, grabbing onto his sheets. "I don't think that's a good idea."

He waves you off. "Just for tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

I hold the door open, waiting for you to gather your things. "Come on, Mrs. Whitlock. I don't mind."

It isn't until we're in the elevator, riding the car down to the empty parking lot that you say, "I thought I told you to call me Bella."

"How have you been, Bella? Truthfully."

You sigh, the light of the fading day playing shadows across your face as we climb into my car. "I love him. Don't get me wrong. It just gets harder and harder every day."

"I'm sorry, Bella. Nobody deserves what you're going through." I ache to hold your hand sitting on your thigh. Can you feel how your hurt makes me hurt?

"It should be him you feel sorry for. Nobody deserves to go through what he's going through."

"He's not the only one suffering. This is a hard ordeal for everyone involved."

You crumble. Your tears overflowing down your cheeks. Your body hunching against the weight put on your shoulders as you lean your face against the window, crying your sorrow into the passing lights. I can't help myself when I grab your hand, intertwining my fingers through yours, clutching so tightly, wishing I could stop your sadness with just my touch.

"I'm so overwhelmed. Every day it's so hard to get out of bed, to eat, to smile, to pretend that I want to be there with him, and then I feel like a horrible human being because what decent person would abandon her dying husband."

I pull to the side of the road, the hush light of the setting sun doing nothing to illuminate the interior of the car. Except for your tears. Those glitter down your cheeks like stars falling from the sky. So beautiful in their sadness. I hate seeing you like this. Crying against the window, your chest heaving with the sobs leaving your mouth. How I wish I could erase the pain of your misery, of your guilt.

"Tell me what to do," I beg, pulling on your hand, not stopping until you're in my arms, clutching at my shirt, dampening the cotton with your tears. "I'll do anything."

Your breaths are soft but sporadic as you look up, your hair brushing against my chin as you tilt your head back until there's that silver lining between my eyes and yours. I've forgotten how to breathe. How to pull air into my lungs in order to stay alive. I wait for my heart to stop because that's what you do. You pull me under with just a simple look.

"Make the pain stop. Make it all go away. Make me feel good," you whisper so sweetly. "Kiss me, Edward."

Your limps are plush, soft and wet, delicious in the way you breathe your last breath into me, in the way your tongue shyly pushes against mine. The groan that leaves me echoes with the passion, desire, lust…love that I've built up for you. I hope that through this kiss you can feel just what you do to me, how you've ended and then restarted my life with just being there by my side.

"Bella…" I gulp down fistfuls of air when you pull away, my heart beating so fast as I try to calm my nerves after having fantasized about your touch for so long.

"Please, Edward," you whisper, your lips dragging against my skin. "Make me feel good. Make me forget."

I dive back in, pressing so hard against your lips that you fall back, taking me with you as I sprawl across the center console, but even the gearshift sticking into my abdomen doesn't stop me from seeking anything you're willing to give. It's when your hand, clutching so desperately at mine, guides my touch up your thigh and to something so sacred, so forbidden, that I pull away.

"Bella?" I whisper, hoping this is real, wishing you won't make me stop.

"Touch me, Edward," you say, your eyes closed, your head tilted back as you impatiently wait, trembling beneath me. Your moan is so loud when I finally do. So unreserved that I spare a quick glance beyond the window.

Your panties are easily pushed to the side as I explore beneath your shorts. So wet and hot. So tender and sensitive. Your hips thrust with each slide as your head shakes back and forth with your lust, your mouth begging for me to stop and to go faster, harder, all at the same time.

"Fuck, Bella." I can't take the way you move below me, how you're lush and soft in your heat. I push against the console, seeking relief for my aching dick. How it wishes to be buried so deep where my fingers are exploring. "You feel so good."

"Edward…Edward…Oh my god!"

You come so beautifully, so violently, so hard against my hand as you clutch at the leather, leaving scratches in your wake, your eyes staring at the roof as your harsh breaths attempt to even out.

"Bella. Baby. Do you feel better? Good?" I ask, trailing my lips down your neck, to the top of your breasts, revealed to me from the shuffle.

"Oh my god."

"Talk to me, baby. What are you thinking?" I want to strip you naked. Right here. In my car. And bury my dick so deep inside of you that you'll remember me for days. Not that you'll have to. Now that I've smelled you, felt you, heard you, I won't be able to get enough.

"I'm sorry." You whimper, pushing me away. I go though it takes all of my will to do so.

"Bella?" I ask, searching your eyes avoiding my own. "What's the matter?"

More tears come as your hand fumbles through the dark. "I'm sorry, Edward. We shouldn't have done this."

Before I can argue, before I can plead my case, my love, you're thrusting the door open, running off into the dark, leaving me behind with your scent on my fingers as the only reminder that you were even there.


End file.
